Chapter 3 #2
That was it? No pointed questions about why an earl’s daughter had fallen so far from grace? No subtle inquiry about the scandal that had driven her from her proper place in society?
He knows. I can see it in his eyes. But he’s not going to push.
The relief was so overwhelming she nearly laughed. “Eight years, Your Grace. Since I was twenty.”
“A considerable undertaking for someone so young.”
“I had inspiration. My sister…” She stopped, the familiar grief tightening her throat. “Well. That’s ancient history now.”
Don’t think about Emmie. Not tonight.
“You’ve built something remarkable,” the Duke said quietly. “What I witnessed today—the way those children trust you, depend on you—that kind of loyalty isn’t easily earned.”
“They’re good girls. They deserve every chance I can give them.”
“You truly care about them.”
It wasn’t a question, and something in his voice made her look up from her plate. The usual coldness was gone from his expression, replaced by something that looked almost like… admiration?
He’s probably just being polite.
“Of course, I care about them,” she said simply. “They have no one else.”
Hugo nodded slowly, as though her answer satisfied some internal question. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but charged with a tension she couldn’t quite name.
Why do I feel like I’m being evaluated? And why do I care so much about passing whatever test this is?
“Your Grace,” she said finally, “I must thank you again for your assistance today. If you and the villagers hadn’t acted so quickly to contain the fire, I’m not certain I could have reached the children in time.”
“You risked your life for those children.”
“They’re my responsibility.”
“Even so.” His amber eyes held hers across the table. “Not everyone would have made that choice.”
My parents wouldn’t have. They’d have calculated the risk and found it wanting.
The bitter thought came unbidden, followed immediately by guilt. Her parents had loved her and Emmie in their own way. They simply hadn’t loved them enough to weather the scandal.
Stop. Don’t go down that path tonight.
“What will you do now?” the Duke asked, his tone carefully casual.
The question she’d been dreading. “I… I’m not certain yet. I’ll need to find placement for the girls of course. There are other institutions that might take some of them, though not together. And I’ll need to…” She trailed off, realizing she had no idea what she’d need to do.
Start over. Somehow. At twenty-eight, with no resources and a scandalous past.
“Actually,” the Duke said, leaning back in his chair with studied nonchalance, “I have a proposition that might interest you.”
Something in his tone made her pulse quicken. “Oh?”
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation earlier.
About debts and obligations.” He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.
“I could help you rebuild. Not just the orphanage as it was but expand it. Make it larger, better equipped. I even know of several members of the ton who might be persuaded to contribute to such a worthy cause.”
Sybil’s heart leaped with sudden, desperate hope. “You… you would do that?”
“I would.” His amber eyes glittered in the candlelight. “The question is whether you’d be willing to accept my help.”
“Of course, I would! That is… if the terms were reasonable…”
There are always terms. There are always conditions.
But this was about the children, about giving them the future they deserved. Whatever the Duke wanted in return, surely, she could manage it.
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” A slow smile spread across his face—the first genuine smile she’d seen from him. It transformed his stern features completely, making him look younger, less forbidding.
More dangerous.
“What…” She had to clear her throat and try again. “What would you require in exchange for such generosity?”
The smile widened, becoming something that was almost predatory in its intensity.
“Becoming my wife and Duchess.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. For a moment, she was certain she’d misheard him.
Wife? Duchess? He can’t possibly mean…
But the serious expression on his face told her that he was entirely in earnest.
He’s proposing marriage. The Duke of Vestiaire is proposing marriage to me.
Her fork clattered to her plate as the full implications crashed over her. Marriage. To him. To this powerful, imposing man who made her pulse race and her hands tremble with nothing more than a look.
This is insane. He barely knows me. I barely know him.
“I…” She stared at him, speechless, her mind spinning with a thousand questions and objections and possibilities she didn’t dare consider.
“Think about it,” the Duke said quietly, his amber eyes never leaving her face. “Take all the time you need.”
Time? How much time does one need to consider an offer that would solve every problem she had while creating entirely new ones?
Because looking at him across that candlelit table, seeing the way he watched her with an intensity that made her stomach flutter and her skin burn, Sybil realized the most dangerous part of his proposition wasn’t the marriage itself.
It was how much she wanted to say yes.